


Classy Moves

by morgan_cian



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:18:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan_cian/pseuds/morgan_cian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick is a classy guy.  Fic for twofold purpose.  In gratitude for <a href="http://lemonbliss.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://lemonbliss.livejournal.com/"><b>lemonbliss</b></a> for a sweet gift, I hope this is what you wanted, darlin'. And for <a href="http://elmyraemilie.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://elmyraemilie.livejournal.com/"></a><b>elmyraemilie</b> on the day of her birth, who queried plantively "...doesn't anyone write hot happy sex anymore? Has the PWP gone out of style?" Happy birthday sweetheart, I hope you enjoy...*hugs* MC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classy Moves

Nick opened the door and was greeted with an impatient woof. He chuckled and let Rampart run in the back yard. He thumbed through the mail, separating it into two piles and trashed the junk. His kit was placed under the table by the door, his keys were dropped in the small dish, and his boots were kicked off only to be lined up by the back door leading into the garage.

A cursory glance showed that there were no messages as he fixed himself a cool glass of juice. His steps were slow as he went upstairs for a shower. The shift had not been physically taxing but a significant closing of one chapter; the page being flipped was a clean slate. He was right there were still good vibes, like those that had departed were not truly gone.

Warm water sluiced over his body. He palmed his cock, standard operating procedure had been to care for his needs but not tonight, he thought. He soaped himself up and that was it.

Vegas did not have Hallmark card scene when it came to winter. No, the nights were cool and the days comfortable before the blistering heat of summer. The hardwood floors were cool to his feet and a nod to the season, he slipped thick sweats over his black boxer briefs and soft sweater that he had gotten for Christmas. The fabric was soothing, a lover’s touch against his skin. His upbringing of running barefoot all year round kept his feet devoid of socks. Forgoing his contacts, he slipped on his glasses and padded back down the stairs.

Rampart came in as impatiently as he had left, dancing about his feet as he filled his bowls with kibble and the dish with water. Standing in the quiet kitchen, he wasn’t tired, he wasn’t hungry, and he did not have any work pending.

Checking the timer on the coffee pot, he pulled down a box familiar from his childhood. He measured the water closely before setting in the microwave. Leaning against the cabinets, he hugged his arms against his stomach. The beep was cut short as he opened the door and poured the powder into the thick mug, swirling the spoon. His cheeks felt warm as he sucked the spoon clean and deposited it into the dishwasher.

The mug felt comforting, as did the thick cushions on the sofa. The lamp added a soft glow; the throw against his legs provided more warmth that wasn’t really needed. He checked his place in his novel and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

He was deep into the pictures in his mind that Rampart’s bark made him jump. A door opened and closed, the slide of the kit, clunky thuds of shoes landing beside the backdoor, keys dropped into the bowl. Quiet laughter.

“Don’t give me that,” an amused voice muttered, as if not to be too loud. “I am immune to that look.”

There was the pad of socked feet across hardwood floors, accompanied by the click of Rampart’s nails. The refrigerator opened and closed. More footsteps that paused.

“I thought you would be in bed?”

Nick smiled to himself and shook his head. “Not tired.” He didn’t look up from his book. Not even when dampened lips touched his forehead.

“Me either,” was the reply. The bottle of water held loosely between long, slender fingers meant that sleep was on the horizon as opposed to the ever present coffee cup needed to keep the body from shutting down.

Socked feet went up the stairs and Nick could hear the spray of water from the shower. He debated whether or not to continue reading, watch the news, or follow up the stairs. Rampart answered for him by putting his broad head on Nick’s knees with imploring eyes. He readily scrubbed the silky ears and long neck.

He pushed himself up and carried his mug back into the kitchen. Rinsing it out and washing his hands. Bed, he decided but as he went to go back upstairs, but the sight of narrow bare feet stopped him. His heart stuttered as it always did, even after so many years as colleagues, friends, lovers, and partners.

Greg’s closely cropped hair was still wet from his shower, low slung flannel pants hung from his hips. The rest of his body was bared to Nick’s gaze. He took a step upward causing Greg to halt his descent with a questioning quirk of his brow. Nick took the steps two at a time until he was near even with his lover. Not giving Greg time to think, he gripped the boney hips and lifted, trusting that Greg would latch onto him. Long arms went about his shoulders; lean legs gripped him about his hips.

A quiet chuckle dampened the skin at his neck, “What is this?”

Nick didn’t answer until he Greg laid on his back on their bed. Soft lamplight cast a golden glow across the expanse of pale skin. Nick cupped Greg’s neck, his thumb trailing over the sharp bone of his cheek.

Greg had changed so much over the years, from his clothes and his hair to his body, while still youthful had gave way to a slender maturity. The wide eyed naïveté had disappeared under the weight of the knowledge of the job but with it also came the deepening of character, a body that had been molded by both the good and the bad.

His thumbs dipped into the waistband of Greg’s pants and tugged them away. His carefree lover was bare beneath fabric, and left his lithe body exposed to Nick’s hungry gaze. When Greg reached for him, Nick braceleted his wrists with his hand and pulled them up above his head. Greg opened his mouth to protest but quieted under the intensity of Nick’s look.

“Leave them there or do I need to get the cuffs?” He growled.

Liquid brown eyes darkened. Greg shook his head and kept his hands above his head. Nick placed his glasses on the bedside table carefully, taking out the lube. Condoms had been put away years ago. His clothes were quickly piled on the floor beside the bed. He put his weight on his knee and trailed his hands along the muscles of the Greg’s thighs that opened willingly.

Nick settled between the quivering limbs. He reacquainted himself the texture, the taste, and the smell of Greg’s skin, long swipes of his tongue moved to gentle nips as he travelled from knee to thigh to groin. Greg shuddered as Nick raked his teeth along the delicate skin stretched over bone at his hips. A gentle thrust of hips and a needy whine had Nick meeting his lover’s gaze before taking in the flesh that begged to be sucked.

With a hand to the back of Greg’s knee, Nick opened his body further. Greg’s whine changed to quiet whispers of “Nicky” as he focused on the skin below the shifting sac, taking each delicate sphere into his mouth, pulling back to blow warm air against the rippling skin. The smell of Greg’s arousal increased as clear fluid leaked, pooling against shivering muscle of his lover’s tightened stomach.

Using his thumbs and forefingers as anchors, Nick held Greg’s hips motionless. He nosed into the soft hairs surrounding the blood red cock, veins distended, begging for his tongue. Changing his grip to a forearm across Greg’s hips, Nick drug his tongue from the base to the tip. Greg choked, his thighs trembled, and his hips twitching under the weight of Nick’s arm. With a soft suckle to the head, letting the liquid sear across his taste buds, Nick pulled back and met Greg’s desperate eyes.

“What is it, baby?”

“Nicky, please,” The pink tongue appeared to wet dry lips. Nick ground his hips against the blanket in response.

“Tell me, baby.”

Greg’s eyes screwed shut before opening slowly, “Want to touch you.”

Nick smiled, love swamping him. He lowered his head and kissed Greg’s tightened stomach. His nose brushed against the warm skin as he nodded. The long fingers speared into his short hair, before moving restlessly over his neck and his ears. Not pushing or demanding, but needy questions that went unspoken.

Unable to resist, he lapped up the fluid that had gathered around the shallow dip of navel. Greg gave a huff of disapproval but did not change his touch to Nick’s head and shoulders. Too many years of knowing each other’s likes and dislikes, Nick took pity on Greg. He wouldn’t like to be teased either. That and the heavy weight between his own thighs was seeking release.

The weight of Greg in his mouth was both familiar and unique. Nick didn’t think he would ever tire of pleasuring him with his mouth. The feel of warm, silky skin that was hard and unforgiving. Nick’s cheeks hollowed as he took more and more until Greg came with a quiet sigh of ‘Nick’ and the flood of bitter salt down his throat.

He rested his head against Greg’s hip, enjoying the feel of Greg’s hands on him, and listening to the harsh pants that slowed into contented sighs. Greg had been his only male lover and to please him made Nick’s chest tighten with something akin to pride, to know that it was his mouth, his touch that prompted the quiet sounds of pleasure.

Greg could be kinky and wild, pushing every one of Nick’s boundaries but never loud. He kissed the skin beneath his cheek as he reached for the lube. His own ardor could not wait much longer.

Memories of fumbling attempts of love making that gave way to practical knowledge of time swamped him as he circled the opening to Greg’s body with wet fingers. Inwardly he cringed as he remembered watching some ridiculous gay porn with Greg in his arms. It was before they had actually performed penetration. Greg had shrugged and said that watching was as close to research as they could get without hands on demonstration. All the panting, grunting, and caterwauling had Nick shaking his head dubiously. Greg had merely lifted his hand and nipped his fingers, giving him a lecture on reality versus entertainment.

His finger slid deep inside and received a quiet sigh and lifted hips in response. Greg was never loud. Two fingers smoothed lube only to be exchanged to thumbs slowly prodding the muscle to relax and open. Greg would pant, sigh, whisper, and sometimes groan. But it was the quiet catch, when Nick was deep within him, his name would spill from Greg’s mouth.

Nick covered Greg’s body with his own, their lips joined as Nick made the slow breach. Always slow, even in the throes of lust, Nick would never hurt him. The head of his cock was snug in Greg’s heat, as the lean hips jerked, Greg’s fingers tightening around Nick’s biceps. Nick whispered to him, brushing his lips against the sweat salt of skin until the body beneath him relaxed and welcomed him deeper.

The dance was old as time as itself, the thrust and retreat, the give and receive, Greg in his arms, the lax cock between their stomachs rallying and lengthening, dragging against their skin, slick with sweat.

Greg’s body tightened and just before the spasm, the whispered “Nick” had his body answering his lover’s call. Wet heat within and spread between them. Nick cradled Greg’s head in his palm as he kissed and panted against the lips of his lover. And when the aftermath of his orgasm left him boneless and vulnerable, long lean arms wrapped about his shoulders and held him against a wide chest, the strong steady beat of Greg’s heart settling him and bringing him down.

He felt the curve of Greg’s smile against his brow. He knew he needed to get up, to find the wipes that were hidden away, to clean them before the come dried on their skin. A chuckle vibrated his cheek and made him look up into Greg’s soft dark eyes.

“What?”

“Classy moves, all around.” Greg’s grin was white and blinding.

Unable to resist, Nick’s eyes crinkled in response, “Your classy guy?”

Greg tugged at his arms, bringing them within a breath, “All mine.” The kiss was sweet and deep. Nick cleaned them up and covered Greg’s dozing form with their blanket. He slipped on his sweatpants and hurried down the stairs.

When he returned, Greg blinked at him owlishly. “Where’d you go?”

Nick eased his hip on to the bed and offered the mug to his lover as he pushed himself up to rest against the head board. “I thought you might want some.” He turned and fished his glasses off the nightstand and the remote.

“Hot chocolate?” Greg sounded surprised.

Nick lifted his shoulder as he surfed the news, “It is January.”

Greg settled back against his chest with a quiet laugh, “Like I said, classy moves.”


End file.
